Perhaps the term “winemaker” is inadequate at best, narcissistic at worst. No great wines are “made.” They are, rather, a reflection of where they came from and how their “maker” was able to imprint his influence within them. When I am alone in the cellar amongst the barrels, thief in one hand and glass in the other, I can’t help but taste in a way that goes beyond simply “sensing” what my eyes, nose and palate tell me—becoming truly aware of, and a part of, what is in my glass. When I smell a beautiful note or taste a certain fruit coming through in a wine, I think not, “this wine is finished and beautiful,” but rather, “where along its life continuum is it? And how have I, am I, and will I guide and be a part of this wine’s entire life?” Only with this respect can a winemaker impart soul to a wine. Soul that reflects growing season, heritage, legacy, and relentless evolution.